Rentwhore

 Rentwhore by Lou Bealy

Commissioned by anonymous

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This is a work of fiction and all characters depicted are 18 or older.

“Please,” Fahima begged. She held her hands together and outward as if in prayer. “It was only a few days late.”

“I’m sorry,” Vern said with a smug grin of cracked yellowed teeth “I’m afraid that the contract is quite clear on the penalty for being consistently late.” His thick round fingers steepled under his chin, holding up his exceptionally large, wide head with prominent jowls and bushy sideburns. “The fifth time triggers the increased penalty clause and adds an automatic twenty percent increase to your rent. And that still doesn’t include the late fee itself.” Despite how sturdy the large wooden desk appeared, it creaked under his considerable mass.

Fahima began to shake. “I can’t- I can’t- What are we going to do?” she blubbered. “My husband is only getting a few hours a week. It took everything to get that much together.”

“Shhh…” he soothed. He stood and walked around the desk to put a hand on her shoulder.

He towered over her, being over six feet tall and about two hundred fifty pounds of hulking fat and muscle, with a barrel chest and huge shoulders. He wore it well, with a fine dark tailored suit doing much to emphasize his power and authority.

She was a dainty little thing at just under five feet tall- short for an American but average for a woman in India. Her fit, trim body was hidden under her long flowing dark green salwar kameez with a matching hijab wrapped conservatively about her head and neck.

“It’s going to be okay,” he continued, rubbing her shoulder.

“But you’re going to throw us out. We can’t pay…” she whispered. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“We can make arrangements.”

“What sort of arrangements?” she asked, her eyes glued to his hand as it rubbed across her shoulder.

He said nothing at first. Standing there breathing heavily for a moment, he rubbed softly across her shoulder. “You’re a beautiful woman, Fahima.” His hand began sliding down the front of her dress. She gasped when his hand cupped her breast, lifting the soft fleshy mound up and feeling its weight. 

Fahima inhaled to say something, to yell at him to stop. But she didn’t. A soft whimper escaped her throat as she closed her eyes.

“I can tell you really care about your family. That you would do anything to spare them hardship…” his hand slid up her chest towards her collar, past the hem of her dress to slip under her hijab.

That was too much. Lurching to her feet, she tried to shove him away from her but he didn’t budge and she succeeded only in launching herself backward. Unwilling to take any more of this treatment, she wordlessly marched toward the door, furious and scared.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he called after her as she grabbed the doorknob. “I guess you want your family thrown out in the street.”

Fahima’s knuckles were white from gripping the knob but she didn’t turn it. After a moment, she let go and turned around, scowling at the creep.

“I didn’t think so.” He smiled and gestured to the chair beneath him for her to sit. “Hear me out at least.”

Still glowering, she walked back around the velvet-cushioned chair and sat, legs together and arms crossed. “There has to be something else I can do,” she said but she doubted it herself. She felt the cool air of the room move across the bare skin of her chest, reminding her to fix her hijab.

“You’re not in a position to set terms.” He reached down to grab her shoulders and began to rub with his strong fingers. “You know what I want. And you’re lucky I’m offering such a discount. It shows how much I value what you are paying with.”

“That is so crude, how dare you!” she hissed and pulled away which only drew the hijab away from her skin, revealing the smooth olive skin of her bare chest.

He held her down with one hand and the other stroked her cheek before sliding down her chest again. His fingers probed between the layers of clothing, eventually finding her bare skin again. She sharply inhaled at the touch of his skin on hers. Too scared to move, she was motionless as a statue when his hand again gripped the flesh of her breast, this time pulling and kneading her soft skin. She wondered if he could feel her heart racing.

“Feel free to leave at any time,” he offered. When she didn’t move, he chuckled. “But the extra twenty percent would be added on to this month, and each month’s rent afterward.” He stood there and waited for a beat but she said nothing. “I didn’t think so.”

“My husband-”

“Doesn’t need to know,” Vern reassured her, his fingers encircled her nipple and gave it a firm squeeze. “Besides, it is on his behalf. You’re just trying to help your family. You know you can’t afford to pay the penalty. Unless...” He pinched her nipple hard, making her yelp.

She turned her head away, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame but she said no more. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

“The kind that is loyal to her family. Take off the scarf,” he commanded, grasping the thin green fabric and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to see more of you.”

There was a moment of hesitation. She imagined Tariq’s face, watching her in disapproval as she even considered doing this. Her hand hovered over the end of the hijab for a moment before she violently yanked the scarf off of her head, sending her dark silky hair cascading down over her shoulders.

“Mmmm…” he crooned. Very nice.” He stroked her face with the back and then the front of his hand, his fingers sliding down her cheek and around her chin. He lifted her head and stepped around the chair to make eye contact. “Yes. You are quite beautiful indeed.” She tried to turn away but he held her head fast by the chin.

She slapped his hand away and hissed, “You’re disgusting.”

“I like a feisty woman.” He cackled, looking a bit impressed. “You wear the pants in the family, don’t you? I bet you insist on being on top while you fuck.”

“Pig!” The word dripped like venom from her mouth but she didn’t move any further away. Her desperation to help her family kept her feet rooted to that spot.

“I know you broads hate to hear this,” he sneered, “but you sure are cute when you’re mad.”

“J-just,” she stammered, “just do what you’re going to do.” Crossing her arms, she stared ahead. She refused to enjoy this.

“No, no,” she chastised her. “Turn around and look at me.”

She continued to stare ahead with her arms crossed, silently defying him.

“Fahima.”

She waited but he did nothing. Eventually, she turned around and saw him smiling back knowingly. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down to unfasten his pants. He smirked at her apparent horror as his hand re-emerged gripping his semi-erect cock. A faint musk began to fill the room as his foreskin slid back to reveal the dark purple head, swelling with blood as she watched.

“Come here,” he ordered, pointing to the floor in front of him.

Unable to look him in the eye, she stared at the floor as she slowly crept toward him. Her feet felt like stone blocks, each step more of a labor than the last. But eventually, she was standing in front of him, looking anywhere but his direction. Any moment, she thought she would find her courage and conviction. Her feet would carry her out of that room and away from the hulking brute of a landlord.

But they didn’t.

“Knees.” He pointed to the floor again. His now fully erect cock stuck out of the front of his dress pants. It was as thick as a coke can and twice as long. The head had grown swollen and bulbous, almost threatening. He was far bigger than Tariq, and the foreskin made it look strange and slightly more intimidating to her.

She slowly sank towards the floor, feeling her resistance drain away until her knees met the hardwood floor. She was now at eye level with his erection. It seemed so much bigger up close. The smell was much stronger as well, stinking of sweat and cum but also of a distinct pungent male musk.

“Go on,” he urged, taking a step forward until his dick was an inch from her lips. She didn’t respond and looked away so he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face toward him. His cock pressed against her lips for a moment, probing for entry, until she relented and relaxed her jaw. The turgid flesh pushed against her lips, forcing them apart until her jaw hurt. The head slid over her tongue, imparting the deep musky flavor of his maleness, so much stronger and more powerful. It permeated her senses. He continued to pull, forcing his cock into her throat until she choked. He held it there for a moment, watching her eyes water and grow wide with fear before he let her go.

Falling backward, she landed on her ass and caught herself with one hand preventing her from completely falling over. She coughed and sputtered for a moment, saliva dripping down her chin in a long string and pooling on her dress right above her breasts. She caught her breath long enough to stare daggers at Vern before he grabbed her hair again.

“Ah!” she shrieked in pain as he pulled her up onto her knees again. He roughly shoved his prick into her mouth as soon as she was in position again.

“Shut up, bitch.” He groaned and held her head tightly, squeezing her between his hands hard enough to cause pain, and began roughly fucking her mouth. Every thrust hit the back of her throat with an obscene gag sound. “Watch the teeth.”

After a few moments of trying to find her balance, she gave up and merely allowed him to manhandle her body, moving her however he wished. She began to stare ahead, to look past him with unfocused eyes. She wasn’t there. She was anywhere else but on her knees being throat-fucked by her landlord.

“Look at me.”

She tried to ignore it. To remain in her blissful fantasy. But she couldn’t. All the frenetic motion ceased.

“Look at me,” he repeated.

Slowly, her watery eyes crept up his massive suit-clad body until they met his own. He smirked and resumed fucking her throat, his eyes locked onto hers until they rolled back into his head. A moment later his whole body stiffened and he pulled her by the hair, forcing his cock deep into her throat before unloading. It swelled up and began to twitch as it spewed load after load of man-cream down her throat. She choked and sputtered, cum and spit running down her chin until he let her go. She fell back again, this time landing on her back. The warm cum and spit oozed down her chin and onto her neck as she spat and coughed.

“Next time we’ll see what the rest of you looks like under there.” He shoved his still-erect cock back into his pants and sat behind his desk again. Without another word, he went back to reading articles on his computer screen.

They both seemed to pretend the other didn’t exist until she had recovered enough to climb to her feet. She couldn’t leave fast enough. It wasn’t until she was looking at herself in her bathroom mirror that she realized that she had left her hijab behind. Though once she looked at the disheveled, soiled nature of her clothes she felt utterly exposed. As naked as she felt without her hijab, it seemed rather minor in that moment.

* * *

“Why did you call me in here?” Fahima asked from behind the chair.

“Please, sit.” Vern gestured to the padded chair in front of his desk. “I have a proposal for you.”

She remained behind the chair, her arms crossed in front of her modest chest. She wore a very conservative dark blue salwar kameez that hid her figure. Her hijab was black and wrapped tightly around her neck. It was chosen for length as well, being long enough to almost totally hide her face and neck.

The bulky landlord sat in his large padded chair behind his dark wooden desk and waited for her with a smug smile.

“I don’t want to hear any of your proposals,” she declared, her dark eyes were the only part of her face visible, and they stared daggers at him. “Especially not without my husband here.”

“Well, considering what kind of deal we made last time, I thought it was best that it was just you and I.” He grinned wide, then made of show of slowly licking his lips.

“I am leaving.”

“Now wait a moment,” he said sharply. “You were smart about your situation before and did what you had to do.”

“That is never happening again.”

“Fine by me.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “But you may want to ask your husband how he plans to pay for rent, which is going up by twenty-five percent.”

“Twenty-five-?!”

“You’re lucky it’s only that much.” He pointed to the chair. “But I have a way for you to help your family.” He rubbed the growing lump in the front of his pants. “If you really want to. Discreetly, of course.”

She looked at the door and then back at him. Her shoulders drooped, she looked at the floor, and then sat down in the chair.

“That’s a good girl. Smart.” He stood up from his desk and walked around behind her, laying his huge mitts on her shoulders. With him between her and the door, she was trapped.

“What are you talking about?” she asked as she shrunk down into her chair; the padded back and armrests seemed to swallow her. “He told me that you were just waiting on the papers and everything was fine.”

“No, I’m afraid your husband has been less than honest with you, my dear.” He smirked. “But you two are both just trying to do what is right for your family, of course.

“Why would he lie to me like that?” she asked, despair creeping into her voice. “He said that it was taken care of.”

“He probably wanted you to think he could handle it on his own,” Vern explained. “Men want to be the providers and problem solvers. But I’m afraid that it is not going well for him. I have to raise the rent, especially after your continued late payments…” He shook his head. “Although I can sympathize with your situation, I’m budging off of the price. The contract is iron-clad. But if you would like to help support your household…” He smiled at her and raised his eyebrows in expectation.

“I have not had a job in decades,” she replied nervously and tried to steady her shaking hands. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

He laughed hard and shook his head. “You know what I mean, woman.”

“If I… cooperate,” she said, closed her eyes, and shuddered.  “The rent stays the same?”

He laughed. “Oh no. It’s still going to go up by twenty percent.” His rough hand moved up her neck, pulling at her hijab.

“But-” she squealed. She reached up to slap his hand away but he jerked out of her reach, taking the hijab with it. He looked at her now bare face, complete with smokey eye makeup, and smiled.

“There’s that pretty face.” He reached out to stroke her face and she closed her eyes, whimpering as the rough-calloused hand brushed over her cheek. “I don’t know why you insist on keeping it hidden.”

She shook her head in frustration. “You said that-”

“You’ll just work off the difference,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Your husband pays the same amount. Everyone wins.”

She flinched away from his touch, which didn’t deter him. His other hand grabbed her shoulder and held her down in the chair. He loomed, lust growing in his eyes. She sat there whimpering as he stroked her face with the back of his hairy hand, stinking of cologne and whiskey. “And Tariq never has to know.”

“Of course not.” He grinned wide. “We will draw up a separate agreement.” His hand slid from her shoulder and down the front of her dress.

A shudder moved through her body at his touch but she suppressed it.

The invading hand pawed at her chest, roughly squeezing her breasts in between little grunts of pleasure and satisfaction. “Stand up,” he ordered. 

She stood up but refused to face him. Her eyes were cast to the floor, her shoulders slumped, her face burned in shame.

She felt her clothing grow tight against her body as he began to pull on it from behind. “Let’s get this thing off,” he said as he pulled the dress over her head with such force that she was almost dragged backward off of her feet. The dress came free and she stumbled, almost falling to the floor. A huge arm caught her around the waist and pulled her upright. Before she could even react, he was carrying her to the desk, where he plopped her down on her ass. “Yeah, let’s have a look atcha.” Calloused hands grabbed at her smooth soft legs, finding the straps to her underwear and ripping them off in one motion. 

Whimpering, she reached back to unfasten her bra in the hopes that it wouldn’t be torn like her panties. She set it aside and turned back, covering her breasts with her arms, out of habit more than anything because he pulled her arms apart at his first opportunity. 

“That’s a good little slut,” he said as he admired her naked body. She had only sparse wrinkles and stretch marks to speak of on her bronze skin. She kept herself in good shape, with a trim little waist, motherly hips, and B-cups that sagged only slightly, her dark nipples pointed in a slight down-angle.

Grabbing an ankle in each hand, he pulled her legs apart and whistled as he peered between her thighs. “You keep her nice and trimmed. I like that.” He chuckled. “So many immigrants don’t know about proper hygiene.” He took a deep whiff and smiled wider. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

Not able to bear his gaze, she turned away and stared at the wall while he stood there holding her legs apart. She had never felt so exposed and ashamed. She heard the jingle of his belt and then the clatter of his pants hitting the hard floor. She felt his hairy body move between her thighs and then press against the naked skin of her torso. Amidst the stink of cheap cologne and whiskey, his stiff rod began probing for her entrance. In her shame, she realized that she was a bit wet, her body responding to his rough treatment. A part of her was relieved, knowing that the chances were minimal Vern would be anything but rough with her.

And he did take her roughly, without any preamble. He placed the tip of his thick cock at her entrance, grabbed her hips, and abruptly shoved himself inside.

“Ah!” she gasped in pain. Despite her body readying itself, it still hurt as his phallus stretched and tore its way inside.

“Shut up, slut.” He moved his hips in shallow thrusts, inching his way deeper inside her. When he was all the way in, he began pounding her with all his strength, grunting and wheezing. He didn’t last long. With a bellow, he pulled out his dick and sprayed cum all over her chest and belly.

* * *

“Couldn’t you smile or moan or anything?” Vern demanded as he pulled his pants back up. “I know you’re enjoying it.”

Fahima didn’t answer, turning away to wipe herself off before getting dressed again.

He shook his head and sighed. “Alright then.”

“What?” she asked, turning to look at him for the first time since entering his office for her weekly obligation.

“I am bored,” he said. He sat back down in his chair wearing only his pants and lit a cigar.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she replied sarcastically. “I’m only doing what you asked of me.”

“Yes. And nothing more,” he agreed. “I was hoping you would… show a little more enthusiasm for your work.”

“My ‘work’?” she spat. “How dare y-”

“So I had another idea,” he went on as he puffed on his stinking cigar. “A proposal.”

“No!” she shrieked. She stood up so fast she knocked over her chair. “No more of your proposals!”

“A way for you to continue earning your discount.” He smiled wide, making her nervous.

“We had a deal- which was all your idea mind you- and you can’t just back out now that you’re ‘bored’!”

“Read your contract,” he oozed. “I can terminate it at any time.” Her face contorted in what was close to apoplectic rage but he held his hands up and shook his head. “Look, this is going to work out great for both of us. I’m talking like two hundred dollars an hour.”

She didn’t expect to hear that. For just a moment, she pondered that amount. It sounded like a lot of money for not very much work. 

“I- I can’t,” she said finally, telling herself more than him. “I am not that kind of woman.”

He burst out into uproarious laughter. “Are you kidding me?” His meaty hand struck his chest a few times and he coughed. “What did you just get done doing?” He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “Of course you can.”

She couldn’t face him. She faced the wall, feeling the burning shame of how far she had let herself fall. “No…” she said weakly.

“But my husband…” she said on the verge of tears. “I can’t even look at him anymore. I am so ashamed. And my daughter…”

“This is what’s best for them, you know that,” he reassured her.

“Trust me.” He took a big puff on the stogie. “This is going to work out very well for everyone.”

* * *

“Oh yeah, fuck!” the gray-haired man with the paunch belly said as he pumped his cock in Fahima’s mouth, hitting the back of her throat. “Take it whore! Yeah... look me in the eye.” He grabbed her head and held his cock in her throat, cutting off her air. “Look at me.”

Her eyes moved up to meet his with tears welling up. He relented, pulling back and allowing her to breathe. She coughed as he jerked his slimy dick.

“Ohhhh-!” he grunted. His cock erupted, spraying cum all over her face and chest. “Fuck yeah.” He looked down and admired his work with a proud smile but she was already facing away again.

Fahima wordlessly climbed to her feet and grabbed some paper towels to wipe off. There was so much though. It was in her hair and everything. She tried not to cry while she cleaned up best as she could.

He left promptly, meeting Vern at the door to hand him the rolled-up sweaty wad of bills. “She is getting better at it, you were right.”

“See?” Vern snorted. You’re helping her learn!” 

After he left, Vern came back into the office and placed a was of bills on the table. “Here’s your cut of the week’s take.”

“Finally!” she barked, grabbing the bills. She jammed them in her dress pocket and then got dressed. It occurred to her how she didn’t even feel shame at the man seeing her naked anymore. Not until she thought about it, anyway. It had become the norm. Another day at the office. Once dressed, she stormed out of the office only to turn and storm back in a moment later.

“What the fuck is this,” she demanded, surprising herself with the uncharacteristic use of profanity. “You said two hundred dollars an hour.”

“That’s correct.” He strutted to his seat behind the desk and lit a cigar. He took a drag and let out a big stinking cloud. “They pay two hundred an hour. And you get your cut.”

“This is bullshit,” she hissed, holding the wad of bills out to him. “This is like twenty percent.”

“Your cut,” he repeated with a grin.

“This is over!” she called out. “I cannot believe that I have let it go this far but enough.”

“Because you think your pussy is worth more?” he cackled. “You were perfectly fine when you thought you were getting all of the money.”

“I was not perfectly fine. This whole thing has been a humiliating experience, to say the least.” She was shaking and on the verge of tears, trying to hold it in. “My daughter almost saw a client’s message!”

“Oh! That’s a good idea!” he beamed. “Your daughter could pay your part, that is if you don’t want to.”

“No… no.” Fahima’s heart jumped up in her throat. “Vern-”

“Mister Black,” he corrected.

“Vern,” she continued, “please no. Nabila, my beautiful daughter- she’s a college student. She is a year away from her degree and we are so close…”

“Then be smart and keep doing your part. It would be a shame if she found out what a whore her mother is. And who knows? Maybe she’ll follow your career path.”

“Career path?!”

“That’s a lot of fucking money you got in your hand right now,” he pointed out.

She shoved it back into her pocket. “Fuck you. I put up with a lot of indignity for that money.” She stomped. She felt the sting of her nails piercing her palms as she squeezed her fists. “The thought of letting one more of your disgusting friends even touch me again makes me ill.”

“They’re clients. Not my friends,” he said smugly. “And they’re your clients too. Keep doing your job, and you could easily keep paying your part of the rent and have enough to buy shoes or headscarves or whatever it is you camel broads spend your money on. Or your daughter’s useless education.” He laughed hard. “What’s that going to be good for while she is flat on her back or on her knees anyway?”

Fahima stood at the door but couldn’t make herself walk out.

* * *

“Man, don’t push.” A short hairy guy in a wife-beater and shorts grumbled. “You’ll get your turn.”

The huge black man behind him pushed again. “Man, she has more holes. Get the fuck out of the way.” He moved past the much smaller man who was powerless to stop him and entered the office. On her knees, Fahima was naked with a man’s cock in her mouth, fellating him intensely, trying to get him to cum.

“Suck it, bitch,” said the young white skater punk fucking her mouth. He sat in the padded chair with his hands behind his head, leaning back watching her fellate him with a grin on his face.

“Get up,” the black man ordered, pulling Fahima by the hair until she got the hint to stand up. He pulled her by her hips until she was bent over at the waist.

SMACK! Stinging pain shot through her from where he hit her ass with his huge hand. SMACK! He hit again. She squealed in pain with the cock in her mouth as he spanked her bare ass. She felt him grab her hips and shove his cock between her legs. Forward and backward his huge cock slid across her slit. She could him slide against her wetness, reminding her of her body’s betrayal once again. Though at that point, she was thankful because she felt the tip probing for her opening. She took a deep breath and braced herself.

“Mm-mm,” the black man moaned. “You’re so tight… how can a whore be so tight?” 

She was about to respond but her words turned to whimpers as she felt him begin to push inside. Her soft lips yielded, enveloping the invader as it stretched and pushed its way inside. Her eyes went wide and she paused her oral ministrations. He was bigger than Vern, even.

“Watch it, bitch.” The skater punk slapped at her hand holding his dick. “You’re squeezing too hard. Just let it go.” He grabbed her behind her head and began jerking her violently back and forth.

“There we go…” the black man groaned. The huge black cock hit her cervix.

“You want in, it’s going to cost two hundred,” Vern explained to the short hairy guy, pointing over his shoulder at the sweaty mass of bodies in his office. 

“Two hundred?” the guy spat. “You said one before.”

“Two hundred for her ass.” Vern held out his hand and a moment later it had two bills in it. The little hair guy crept into the office, grabbed the cushions off of a chair, and threw them down. “Over here.” He pointed to the pile.

“Wait! Wait!” Skater Punk began twitching and shaking. “Grr…” he groaned. Thick streams of spit and white cum began dripping out of the sides of her mouth. She gagged and pulled away to cough.

“Ah!” she cried as the black man wrapped a huge arm around her chest and pulled her towards the cushions. She couldn’t resist if she wanted to, she felt absolutely impaled on his cock as he lifted her in the air. He pulled out long enough to sit down and pull her on top of him again in cowgirl position.

Skater Punk made a quick exit as the next guy came in, a barrel-chested guy in his mid-thirties, covered in dust and wearing work boots and overalls.

“How much for a handjob?” asked a greybeard in leather chaps and a motorcycle jacket. “I just want to nut and run.”

A few of the guys behind him said much the same, grumbling about having to wait so long.

“Hey, I should be charging you guys to watch.” Vern laughed. “Matter of fact…” He reached out to grab the door and pull it shut. “That’s twenty-five now. And fifty for a handy.”

There was a chorus of groaning in the hallways.

“Hey, she is a working lady helping support a family,” Vern smarmed. “You guys can’t wait a little longer? You can get a handy while you wait?”

A few takers paid the fees and went inside, leaving ten more in the hall waiting their turn.

“Mouth is free,” said the dusty man buckling his overalls back up as he pushed his way back out through the crowd shortly thereafter.

“That was quick!” Vern laughed. “She’s getting good at this!” He leaned into the room in time to see the hairy man pull out and shoot a load of white jizz all over her back. “Keep up the good work!”

End

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